


Switch

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Dom/sub Undertones, Gender Roles, M/M, Roleplay, Stereotypes, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine meet in their junior year at UCLA and realize that they share a kink as well as a dorm room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switch

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: gender/sexuality stereotypes used in a role playing/sexual fashion, unsafe sex, slightly unbalanced but consensual power play that begins with some boundary pushing but edges into a more conventional relationship (don't listen to Johnna because it's all her fault anyway and no matter how kinky I make them they end up falling in love, damn soulmates).
> 
> See an adorable little social media image sequel [here](http://luckyjak.tumblr.com/post/73372640869/fic-ish-social-media), written by [luckyjak](http://luckyjak.tumblr.com/). <3

From the beginning, there's just something about Blaine.

There shouldn't be, at least not on the surface—he is more or less a carbon copy of last year's roommate, with only a few key differences; he plays the cello, not the drums, and he's actually attractive, if you're into unruly curls and eyelashes that go on for days and hazel eyes so clear that you could probably do your hair in the reflection they provide. (Kurt could so potentially be into all of that, but bear with him for a minute.)

Otherwise Blaine is no different; he's one of those perfectly average band dudes that Kurt has somehow managed to be shacked up with all throughout college. He shrugs and smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets more than he talks. He wears cargo shorts and baseball caps and doesn't shower as often as Kurt might like. He leaves dirty clothes draped over the furniture and doesn't seem to mind pizza boxes as decor notes. He has sex with the girls from the wind ensemble but never seems to want to date them.

It's a liberal area and college, and they're both in the music program; Kurt doesn't expect homophobia to be an issue. All of his previous roommates have been straight, and he'd had the same conversation with them as he has with Blaine at the beginning of their junior year.

"Okay, so, I'm single as of this summer, and there may occasionally be guys in here," he'd said, after a few days of casual new roommate bonding. "If you see a red scarf on the doorknob it means exactly what you think it means."

Blaine had been extraordinarily relaxed about it. He'd nodded and tugged a green scarf from Kurt's hand and replied, "Green for me? Cool, man."

And that had been that in terms of sexy time negotiation _and_ making it clear where Kurt's preferences sit—Blaine's nonchalance had been a relief.

 

*

 

Difference number two is the revelation that Blaine is friends with Kurt's best friend, Rachel.

Kurt meets her at the mall for shopping one weekend and there's Blaine, texting lazily with one hand and holding Rachel's bags in the other, looking relaxed but disinterested. When Rachel and Kurt air kiss each other's cheeks and link arms and start going on about a sale that they're excited about taking advantage of Blaine looks up at them and disengages his ass from the edge of the fountain that he's been leaning on.

"Wow, hey, Kurt,” he says. “What's up?”

Seriously, are those eyelashes even real?

"Please tell me that you aren't dating Rachel," he blurts rudely, because the first thing that flashes through his mind are images of accidentally walking in on them in the dorm and Rachel is so much like a sister to him that he literally cannot even with that. "You're not dating him, are you?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "We went to the same high school senior year and helped each other with our college apps and auditions. Relax." She flutters her eyelashes at Blaine. "Meet us back here in an hour?"

Blaine smiles. "Sure." He adjusts the brim of his cap, and Kurt isn't sure but—for a moment it's almost as if he uses the motion to cover sweeping his eyes over Kurt from head to toe.

He couldn't really blame Blaine, if that was what it had looked like. He'd almost killed himself getting into his jeans this morning, and the sleeveless top and vest combination that he's wearing doesn't hide much. He smiles to himself and switches his hips intentionally, knowing exactly how good his ass looks, until they're out of sight of his roommate.

He's always had a thing for that kind of boy, despite the habit being unworthy of the disappointment that it usually comes with.

"Why didn't you tell me he was your roommate?" Rachel asks.

"How was I supposed to know that roommate Blaine was your Glee friend from McKinley Blaine?"

"It's not like he's been talking about you to me with names, either. He just said his roommate was 'cool'."

Kurt exhales. "Anyway. No harm done. Let's go race some bitches to the racks."

 

*

 

After that, Blaine is just—a fixture. He's occasionally with Rachel, yes, smiling and dropping funny one liners that surprise Kurt. But he also seems to always be turning up at the same networking events, the same parties, the same bars, and the same performances as Kurt. He makes social connections in Kurt's secondary and tertiary social circles. He's never quite at the center of Kurt's whirling friendship spirals, but he's never far from the edges of them, either.

They see each other more often outside of their dorm room than inside of it, often passing each other at night and in the mornings, both of them busy, rushing to get showered or to class. Neither study in their room much; they have preferred spots in the library and common rooms. Blaine's best friend Sam is a commuter, so he's always shooting off to the commuter's lounge to keep him company.

Kurt entertains a bit of a crush on Blaine. It's nothing serious; it's just a harmless observation of a cute, somewhat generic straight guy who occasionally seems to check him out right back in blink-and-you'd-miss-it sort of way. It's not the first time that a guy of any sexual orientation has had his head turned by Kurt's flawless skin or long body or wide, pink mouth. It's not even as evolved as some of the hook-ups that Kurt had enjoyed freshman year when all he'd wanted was to shed the chains of high school, learn what his body liked, and not feel guilty about either of those things.

He'd had his fair share of one night stands with straight guys, gay guys, and every sort in between. He'd dated, he'd had his heart broken, he'd fallen in what he'd been convinced at the time was love twice—and so thinking that Blaine is adorable and finding Blaine's glances at him flattering is just the result of neatly arranged self confidence. He's fine with it. It's nice to be noticed, and it flies so far below the radar that it doesn't make their rooming situation awkward, either.

Which isn't to say that he doesn't turn it up a bit, when the mood strikes. He may sometimes on Saturday mornings when he knows that they'll both be sleeping in wake up early and strut around the room in his boxer briefs for longer than is strictly necessary. At twenty years old he knows exactly what he looks like—he's tall and lean, with a width to his shoulders and arms that he'd only dreamed of at fourteen, but he's also still in possession of that Kurt Hummel charm that makes his body flow like liquid and his eyelashes flutter and his lips purse coyly. He's always been an enticing blend of masculine and feminine traits, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out which side of him comes out flirtatiously around supposedly straight boys who can't seem to take their eyes off of his ass.

And Blaine is definitely effected. He wakes up, arranges himself with a blush, takes a shower and then comes back to their room in sweatpants and a tank top and shower shoes, trying very obviously to not notice Kurt standing there in nothing but underwear so fitted that nothing is left to the imagination.

"Rehearsal?" Kurt asks, hovering in front of his closet. He looks over his shoulder just in time to catch Blaine's eyes on his naked back. He tenses his thighs to show off the muscles in them, and the way that doing so makes his ass clench up high is impossible to not notice.

"Uh, yeah," Blaine replies, clearing his throat. "Just my section, but yeah."

"Can I come with?" Kurt asks, on a whim.

"Sure," Blaine says, smiling.

"I'll just be a minute."

Fitted denim shorts and a lavender button-up and a handful of product in his hair later, Kurt is slinging on a pair of sandals and his sunglasses. He looks fabulous, and judging by the darkened cheeks and bobbing swallows Blaine thinks so, too.

Grinning, he loops his arm through the crook of Blaine's elbow and hip-bumps him. "Lead the way, Mr. Cello."

The afternoon is an exercise in blatant teasing; Kurt can't help himself. It's just so much fun, slinking around in ways that make Blaine's eyes follow him. He knows he's being a horrendous flirt, but Blaine doesn't seem annoyed by it, and Blaine's friends make it easy by simply not caring to notice, or at least pretending not to. They have lunch after rehearsal and Kurt ends up on the same side of the booth as the gay guys and he turns it up a notch, beginning a detailed conversation about the guy that he had broken up with over the summer.

"Hold my bag?" he asks Blaine as they walk back toward their dorms, his friends in a loose circle all around them. "I need to use the powder room." He winks, and skips across the courtyard to duck into a bathroom. When he comes back he smiles, takes his satchel from Blaine and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks." He slides his arm through Blaine's idly.

When they get back to the room he changes (he'd spilled ketchup on his shirt at lunch), and feels Blaine watch. "I've got a study group. Are you coming to Waterfront tonight?"

Blaine, cheeks red, sits down at his computer desk with his bag over his lap. "Yeah, I'll, uh. See you there."

Kurt gently ruffles Blaine's hair on his way out.

 

*

 

That night, Kurt lets his girlfriends get him drunk. He knows it's probably a bad idea, what with how awful he's been about flirting with Blaine stone cold sober, but by the time Kurt stops gawking at Blaine's friends waiting for the man himself to arrive, he's already buzzed and cuddled up between Rachel and Santana and Rachel is teasing him about his crush on his roommate.

And then said roommate arrives, looking devilishly handsome in jeans and a polo shirt, his curls a riot around his face. He smells like cologne and tobacco and he high-fives and back slap hugs his friends and Kurt licks his lips.

"Good lord," Santana breathes. "The sex musk is actually, literally choking me." She waves a hand as if to clear the air, and Kurt and Rachel giggle.

"I know you've left a string of confused, drooling Neanderthals in your wake, Kurt, but—"

Kurt puts up a hand. Well. He puts up his Cosmo, actually. "Do not finish that sentence. Please."

They watch Blaine drink beer and knock back shots. He flirts and is flirted with by several girls, and dances with a couple of them. He goes outside to smoke at least twice (Kurt knows from conversation that he indulges in that socially like most of their friends do).

By the time that he makes his way over to Kurt's side of the bar, he's tipsy and loose. Kurt lets him make small talk with his girlfriends and then hip-twitches his way around the table, running a single fingertip up Blaine's bicep.

"Hey," he purrs, leaning on his elbows.

"Hey," Blaine replies, smiling.

"I'm only third on your dance card?" Kurt asks, eyebrows rising. "Harsh."

Blaine laughs, flustered, but also drunk enough to take the jab in stride. "Wow, uh. Sorry. Major misstep, huh? Roomie privilege."

"Precisely," Kurt says, walking two fingers up and down Blaine's hairy forearm. "Ask me to dance, big guy."

He asks.

They dance off in a corner just for privacy's sake; Kurt doesn't want to embarrass Blaine too much (he'd honestly expected his insistence to be laughed off by now and he mentally high fives Blaine for being nice enough to indulge him) and, well. Kurt's sort of slutty when he's drunk. Before he can give Blaine the chance to take charge he's turned around, settled low on his knees and pressed his back and ass into the curve of Blaine body.

He can feel Blaine inhale, surprised. He can feel surprise turn to acceptance when Blaine's wide hands slide around his body, trace his ribs and belly and then settle on his hips. He doesn't hold back—he writhes, side to side and back to front, letting Blaine feel his body. The music has a heavy bass line and he lets it vibrate the lines of his thighs and arms in all the right ways. He knows he's putting on the drunk club act a little heavily—but Blaine doesn't seem to mind.

Rather the opposite.

Blaine's fingernails dig into his hip bones. He grins, lets his head fall back on Blaine's shoulder, lets Blaine see his gloss-plump lips and the faint hint of eyeliner that he'd applied just before leaving for the bar. This goes on for a song or two more, and then Blaine surprises him by turning him around and gently pressing him into the wall at their back.

"If I don't dance with Rachel she'll get pissed," Blaine says, smiling.

"If you dance with Rachel you have to dance with Santana, just a heads up. Or she'll probably find you later. It's a thing," Kurt says, high-pitched and just a little breathy. He's twitching in his jeans from being close to Blaine.

"Thanks for the warning," Blaine says, eyes ticking subtly over Kurt's arms in his short-sleeved button-up.

After he's gone, Kurt smirks and leans back against the wall, warm with arousal and success.

They hadn't arrived together, but Blaine's party has a designated driver and Blaine offers Kurt a spot in the car. He accepts, kisses Rachel and Santana on the cheeks goodbye, and spends half of the ride home with his legs in Blaine's lap and Blaine's curls around his fingers. It's just drunken physicality—he knows that they wouldn't do this sober, but nothing seems to be wrong with that in the moment.

Alone in the quad, Blaine slides an arm around Kurt's waist when he stumbles. "Steady as she goes, captain," he jokes, and Kurt puts an arm around his shoulders. He's compact, but surprisingly solid for all that. Kurt leans on him easily.

"Mm, my hero," Kurt purrs, letting his fingers back into that hair, which is fucking glorious to touch.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a cuddly drunk?"

"They have now," Kurt answers. He turns and puts his face into Blaine's hair. "Anyone ever tell you you have like, the best hair? Seriously, I would kill for this hair. What's your secret?"

"Genetics?"

"Ha ha."

Inside their room, Blaine asks, "You okay to sleep? Don't feel sick?"

"I'm good. Thanks, Dad."

"Bite me. Just don't want you to choke and die, babe."

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

Blaine waves a hand. "You know what I mean." He's blushing.

Kurt grins, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. He shrugs out of it, letting Blaine see every tick and flex of his shoulders and biceps as he sets it aside and then reaches for the button on his jeans. Blaine pretends to look for a t-shirt to sleep in near the foot of his bed, but Kurt knows that he's watching out of the corner of his eye when Kurt bends over to shimmy out of his skinny jeans. When he's bent to the floor, wrangling the jeans off of his ankles with his ass in the air, he thinks that he can hear Blaine inhale.

He flops down onto his bed when he's down to his boxer briefs, spreading out like a cat and letting one hand fall casually over his crotch.

"Good night, huh?" he asks, yawning. "Night, Blaine."

Blaine stands there, eyes wide, holding the t-shirt that he'd been looking for. "Night, Kurt."

 

*

 

This goes on for weeks. Their social circles are neatly blended now, well enough so that they are always seeing each other but not so completely that they overdose on each other. They still don't see much of each other in their rooms, but they've both taken to staying in on Sundays for hours at a time. Kurt isn't completely sure of Blaine's motivation for this, but knows that he himself just can't resist lounging around in shorts and an over-sized t-shirt, bed-headed and undone, studying or running lines or scales and watching Blaine watch him.

There is absolutely no mistaking Blaine's curiosity, but curiosity and desire are not always the same thing.

Right before midterms, their usual schedules become nothing more than buffer time in between voracious studying jogs. They end up in their room a lot more because going out is just not an option with crunch time right on top of them. Sleep is a memory and, in record time, they're both stressed out to the max.

So when Blaine comes back one night with a brown paper bag under his arm, Kurt doesn't even hesitate.

"Please say that's for us," he groans, buried under textbooks.

"You looked pretty close to cracking, so, yeah," Blaine says, flopping down next to him with the six pack—it's Irish hard cider, one of Blaine's favorite drinks that Kurt also secretly loves. It's lighter than beer, tastes like apples, relaxes him, and doesn't leave him feeling gross.

"Oh, god, yes," he moans, tipping the bottle back and swallowing in a way that could only be described as obscene. He licks the fizzy stuff from the corner of his mouth and moans, head tilted back against the wall.

Blaine stares, and then asks dumbly, "Quiz me?" while holding out a notebook.

They go back and forth like that for hours, until the six pack and Kurt's ability to focus is gone. He's buzzed enough to make everything warm and fuzzy. Mostly he just can't absorb any more information, his shorts are riding up his ass, and he has to piss, badly. He crawls out from under a pile of papers, sloppy as he gets to his feet.

"Bathroom, be right back," he says.

When he's done emptying his bladder and splashing a little cold water on his face he feels ten times better and they get right back to it, until Blaine hits his own apparent wall and slumps back against Kurt's pillows, a textbook open over his face.

"Brain gone," he groans, muffled by the pages.

Kurt rubs his knee. "Rest is for the weak."

And then he just sort of leaves his hand there, tracing shapes on Blaine's kneecap with his fingertips. Blaine is wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a UCLA t-shirt that's seen better days, worn at the neckline with barely visible holes. Kurt allows himself to stare, allows himself to flush at the sight of Blaine's boyish, tight body. He's effortlessly muscular except for a small patch of soft belly that Kurt finds himself wanting to bite very badly.

He groans silently and raises a notebook. It's one thing to tease and flirt, but he really needs to leave it there. The cider is making him stupid as well as horny. Never a good combination.

He continues to read questions aloud, at one point laughing and tipping a book off of Blaine's face so that he can actually hear the answers. Blaine insists on continuing to sprawl there, though, sleepily responding, his eyelids dipping lower and longer with every reply.

Finally, his response to a question is a groan and a soft humming "Mmm" and Kurt shakes his leg. "Blaine.”

"Mmm," Blaine whines.

"It's only nine-thirty." He pokes Blaine's hip over and over and over.

"Mmm." Blaine reaches out and takes his hand, presses it against his thigh until it's flat and still. "Quit it. Mmm. Better.”

Kurt smiles despite himself. Blaine has been a good roommate and aside from the obvious he really is kind of scruffy-adorable.

He splays his fingers across Blaine's thigh, feeling comfortable since Blaine had pressed his hand there, and lets his thumb tease a line just barely along the inner curve. The textbook settled over Blaine's face rises and falls as Blaine breathes, and Kurt is fairly sure that there's a hitch in there somewhere after his thumb begins to sweep back and forth.

What he doesn't expect at all is Blaine's cock swelling in his sweatpants. He doesn't expect his roommate to get hard fast enough for it to be visible, rising thick and swollen against the seam between his legs. Kurt freezes the moment he notices, wondering just what face Blaine is making under that book, or if he's simply asleep. Kurt is not sure about saying something or just sort of edging away.

Awkward.

When Blaine has fully tented his pants and Kurt is sort of just _staring_ , lips parted, hand frozen still, Blaine tips the book down far enough to expose his eyes, blown black with pupil.

"I—I'm not—I'm not,” he stutters.

Kurt breathes out fear and arousal, sweeping his thumb higher, his pulse pounding in his ears. He lowers his voice as he scrapes the fingernail of his pointer finger along the shape of Blaine's erection, from under the head all the way down to his balls. "You've been staring at me since the moment we met. Are you sure about that?" He drags his finger back up, feels Blaine twitch and twitch and twitch.

"D-don't—oh, god.”

"Are you asking me to stop?" he asks, perfectly still. "Because you aren't the first guy to say that to me, and then—come all over me like a fourteen-year-old about three minutes later.”

"Shit," Blaine pants, as Kurt's fingers withdraw politely. "Oh, shit, Kurt, please. I—”

"Please...?" Kurt asks, setting his tongue between his teeth.

"Touch me," he gasps out.

"Mmm," Kurt hums, and slides his hand into Blaine's sweatpants, wrapping his hand around Blaine's cock. "Thought so.”

"Jesus," Blaine whimpers, hips jolting. Kurt strokes him steady and firm.

"Commando, huh?" Kurt drawls, and it comes out unsteady because he's sort of half-hyperventilating at how hot it is to have this gorgeous boy's dick throbbing in his hand after so many weeks of thinking about it. He doesn't look at Blaine's face, just sits closer and jacks Blaine harder, loving every whine and whimper that he earns. "That's it, baby. It's okay. Fuck my hand. Gonna get me all messy?"

Blaine moans, arches back against the wall and thrusts up, his thighs spreading—and Kurt has to actually bite his bottom lip not to groan at the sight of him turned on and hungry for it, one hand fisted around his sweatpants and the other somewhere down near the pillows.

"Don't stop," he whimpers, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

"What's the magic word?"

"Please. Please, Kurt, I—I'm so close."

He's also the hottest guy that Kurt has ever jerked off, all caramel skin and quivering curls and flushed cheeks. Even his lips are swollen from being worried between his teeth and he's panting, smearing pre-come all over Kurt's fingers, making the handjob tackier with every pass. His cock is thick and perfect and Kurt has to suppress every natural instinct to stop himself from just burying his face in between Blaine's legs and fucking devouring him to the base of it.

He can't resist leaning in and drawing the tip of his nose up the side of Blaine's neck. He breathes hot over his earlobe, then bites at it. "What's getting you off, sweetheart? Thinking about fucking me, maybe?" Blaine inhales, exhales a whimper. "Or maybe—maybe you've been jerking off imagining my dick in your ass," Kurt hisses, knowing how close Blaine is, able to feel it just from the way that he's pulsing, from the way that the slit at the head of his cock is gaping, "maybe getting you spread open on my fingers or my tongue and then making you take my cock, huh? Bend you over that desk over there and fuck the come right out of you."

"Oh my god, oh _fuck_ ," Blaine cries out, and shoots all over Kurt's hand.

Kurt exhales against Blaine's skin as he slowly takes his hand out of Blaine's pants. "Good to know."

He normally wouldn't push it past that, but Blaine's shaking and twisting and there's just something so terribly needy about the noises that he's making. Kurt brushes a slick finger along his bottom lip, and feels him twitch away. "Come on. Be a good boy and clean up your mess." The strangled moan that Blaine tries to swallow tells Kurt everything that he needs to know. He presses his fingers closer, teasing the tongue out of Blaine's mouth. "Come on."

"Fuck, please," Blaine groans, taking the digits inside of his mouth and sucking at them hungrily. "God—god—"

Kurt feeds him his own come, digit by digit, shocked at how eager he is for it, at how his tongue chases Kurt's fingers to the last knuckle, at how he whines when there isn't anything left to swallow.

He doesn't even mean to have Blaine notice how aroused he is in return—he sort of shifts his leg, which has fallen asleep, and Blaine's thigh touches the bulge in his pants, and Blaine jerks away and up and off of the bed.

"Fuck. I have to go," Blaine says, looking panicked, and Kurt doesn't realize just how badly the shit has hit the fan until the door slams and he's alone.

Damn.

Not the smartest thing that he's done this year.

 

*

 

Of course, there's a limited amount of freak out space in this arrangement. They live together. Blaine stays over a friend's for the rest of the weekend, but come Monday they're shuffling around each other and by the middle of the week having to face each other in social situations after school and rehearsal, too.

So Kurt does the only thing he knows how—he goes with it. Or rather, straight past it and on to ridiculous. He fabulouses his way around their social groups and eventually wins back the social ease in the water.

"He's the sweetest," he says, his arm around Blaine's waist. "Isn't he the sweetest? Seriously. He said he'd even come shopping with me tomorrow. God, don't you just love frat boys who don't mind a little rainbow in their otherwise drab, flannel-covered existences?"

Blaine, who obviously wants to get past the awkward as much as Kurt does says, in an amused monotone, "Except I'm not in a frat. And I don't wear flannel."

Kurt boops him on the nose.

Later, Blaine corners him alone to ask, "What are you doing?"

"Buy me a drink first?" Kurt asks.

Blaine buys him a drink. "Look, can we just—I'm sorry, okay? I was stressed and buzzed and—"

"You want us to pretend that it never happened," Kurt finishes, wrangling a cocktail straw with his tongue and not missing the way that Blaine's eyes follow the motion.

"That would be totally awesome, actually. I—I like you, Kurt, we're cool, and you're a good roommate, and I don't want to fuck this year up for either of us." He exhales. “Look, you're right, okay? I've been gawking. But I didn't mean to—”

Kurt swallows, and then leans back on his elbows, and takes a leap big enough to possibly ruin their comfortable relationship. "You like it." When Blaine says nothing, jaw hanging half-open, he goes on. "You like it. You like playing the straight guy friends with a gay guy stereotype—you like dancing with me and buying me drinks and holding my bag and staring at me. You like swatting my ass when you're drunk and showing me off to all your band friends and growling at guys who mutter slurs under their breath when we're walking across campus. You like Rachel being a little jealous of how we are with each other." He takes another swallow of his drink, tilts his head and leans in close, his lips brushing Blaine's ear with every word. "But when we're alone you stare at me like a starving animal chained to a post." He can feel Blaine swallow and shift and blush. "You like thinking about my cock and my ass and my hands and my mouth." He tilts his mouth lower, lets it scrape past the throbbing pulse at Blaine's throat. "You like it, acting the straight guy while I play up the effeminate stereotype, and then like even more than that the thought of me fucking you until you scream when I take you home. Deny it. Go ahead.”

Blaine's pulse is hammering frantically against his mouth. "Why are you doing this?"

"Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll never say another word on the subject. In fact, I'll apologize profusely. Tell me I'm wrong, Blaine.”

"Even if you were right, what's to be happy about? It's like eight kinds of offensive, why would you even want—"

"It's _hot_ because we're consenting adults and it's getting us both off," Kurt says, lips ghosting past Blaine's Adam's apple. "You're hard right now just standing next to me and god, I want you just as badly. Cards on the table. Come on. Be honest.”

"Jesus Christ, I— _fuck_ , Kurt."

"Never met a guy like me, have you, sweetheart?" Kurt whispers, pressing his hand against Blaine's dick under the table.

"Oh my god," Blaine groans.

"Let's put it this way. Keep on doing your thing, and I'll do mine. We'll ham it up around our friends to get the blood pumping, but when we're alone at home, we do whatever we want. No ego, no tricks, no politically correct tap dancing. Just whatever we want." He locks their gazes, stroking Blaine's cock through his jeans.

"Fuck."

Kurt doesn't say anything further. He just tucks his hand underneath Blaine's balls and starts playing with them, savoring the tension that makes Blaine's body seize up. Blaine tucks them deeper into their little secluded corner, around the other side of the high bar table. He wraps his fingers around Kurt's forearm, feels the strength of the muscle ticking there as Kurt squeezes his balls in careful time.

"What—what do you want? Tonight?" he asks.

And Kurt pushes, because he knows that's what Blaine really wants him to do. "Tonight I want you to dream about me letting you have the privilege of sucking my cock," he whispers, tightening his fingers around Blaine's balls. "Also—I'd like another Long Island Iced Tea."

Blaine shudders through an exhale, his hand going tight around Kurt's empty.

 

*

 

The thing is—Kurt knows that he's pushing it. He's been in relationships that were about voluntary power play before, and he's always been the one in control. But he'd taken a risk, pinning Blaine to the wall with that offer, and he's just as shocked as he is pleased that Blaine hadn't run screaming from the bar. Still, it's one thing to have his roommate agree to something weird in exchange for getting off, but it's another to see the proof that everything he'd suspected about Blaine is true.

The following weeks are a blur of shifting behavior and communication. They're both staying on campus over the holidays so it's easy to play, as there is a smaller audience for their little game. Blaine tugs Kurt around like a prize, hand on his hip, glowering at any guy who looks at him for longer than a few seconds. He carries Kurt's books and bags, goes on hours-long shopping trips without complaint, accepts every off-handed isn't-the-straight-guy-precious? comment that Kurt makes. In return he gets to act like a possessive, macho boyfriend whenever he feels like it.

And at every opportunity, Kurt tortures him. Leans over and whispers in his ear the moment that their friends aren't looking.

"Think they know? How fucking desperate you are right now? How all you want is for me to take you somewhere quiet where I can stuff that pretty mouth full of me?"

He hasn't let Blaine touch him. Hasn't given in much at all, aside from a few solitary handjobs when Blaine had least expected them—coming back from the shower, or grabbing a book in between classes, or that one time in the campus library when Kurt had pushed him into a corner and gripped him through his pants and made him come all over everything and he had to figure out how to escape the situation with his dignity in tact and little to no help from Kurt.

"How long could you stay hard for me, baby? If I promised you maybe soon I might give you a little more. Huh?"

Rubbing his ass into Blaine's crotch out of sight on a dark dance floor until Blaine growls and grips his waist until it hurts, thrusts up against him and bites the back of his neck.

"Yeah, think you're such a big macho guy, huh? Mark up my skin with those rough fingers, make you feel like a man, Blaine? Yeah, come on.”

Kurt has never been granted this level of power before and he has to admit, it's going right to his head. He's just as messed up over Blaine as Blaine is over him, only—Blaine doesn't know that, and that's sort of the entire point. He gets to control everything and he loves that.

In private, Kurt teases and teases and teases, until he starts to run out of ways to tease. His at home outfits have grown over the top, even for him; boy shorts and lace, leather boots that reach his knees, silky underwear, and not a single article that leaves anything below it to the imagination; he learns each one of Blaine's buttons and pushes them.

They once spend an entire afternoon with Kurt sitting horizontally across his bed in nothing but lace-edged male-cut briefs and a smile, rubbing himself through them while Blaine had been forced to watch from his own bed, mirroring Kurt's pose, rutting up against his jeans until Kurt had let him come fucking the heel of his palm to the sight of Kurt massaging his asshole through his underwear and asking Blaine if he'd ever thought about getting his tongue up inside of it.

He thinks he might actually be driving Blaine crazy.

 

*

 

One afternoon just before school is set to start again, Kurt calls Blaine home from the city to fix a wiring problem in their dorm room. Blaine is good enough to even pretend that he believes the story, getting down on all fours and rummaging around underneath their desk, just waiting.

God—he is _perfect_ , and Kurt just can't wait any longer.

He walks up behind Blaine, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging jeans, and uses the curve of his right foot to trace a line down Blaine's spine. Blaine goes tense from the moment they touch, and then proceeds to shudder through the odd caress.

"Turn around on your knees," Kurt whispers.

Blaine does as he's told, and when he looks up at Kurt with glassy eyes and that plump, gorgeous mouth, Kurt can't help but reach down and trace it with his thumb. Blaine's eyes find his crotch and don't seem eager to lose it again. Kurt flicks the baseball cap off of his curls with a slow, hot smile. All it takes is the tip of his pelvis and Blaine's face rubs featherlight back and forth over the front of his jeans. He hooks his fingers in Kurt's pockets, holding on for dear life.

"Please," he murmurs, mouthing at the stiff denim. "God, please, I'll do _anything_."

"Anything for what, baby?"

"Your cock in my mouth. Please. Just let me—you can just jerk off in my mouth, or on my face, I just—I want—I need you to come. Please." His eyes are wild. He knows how close he is to finally getting what Kurt has been teasing him with for weeks.

"Mmm," Kurt hums, holding Blaine by his curls and rubbing against his face. "That's more like it." He lets Blaine rub back against him, plays with his curls as he asks, "Have you ever sucked cock before?"

"No," Blaine answers, biting softly up and down the bulging zipper on Kurt's jeans. "Just show me. I'll—I want to, so badly."

"Not gonna freak out on me?" He's already breathing off-rhythm, already tugging Blaine's curls and rutting along his stubbled cheek to encourage his hard-on.

"No," Blaine says, licking at the smooth metal circle button on Kurt's fly. "No, I don't—I just fucking _want_ you."

"Brave boy," Kurt says.

"You drive me crazy."

"Honest boy,” Kurt says, opening his pants, and Blaine mouths his fingers as they move even as he keeps babbling confessions.

"Came in my sleep the first week I was here, every night, watching you in your bed. God, your _body_. You—you're strong but the way you move, almost—just, so graceful, hit every button I had and—did I mention your fucking body, Kurt, Jesus," Blaine hisses, licking between Kurt's fingers as his underwear is exposed. "Smell so fucking good." Blaine's words are also making him so hard that he's rising out of the slit at the front of his underwear, pink and thick and god, Blaine has drool at the corners of his mouth.

He pushes his jeans down enough to allow his underwear to snap past the rise of his erection, sighing out in relief as it stiffens and bobs and stands in front of Blaine's face.

"Jesus," Blaine chants, panting, "Jesus, Jesus, fuck, yes."

Kurt swings his hip, lets the shaft of his dick collide with Blaine's cheek once, and then again, and then again on the other side, until Blaine is whimpering and chasing him with his mouth. He takes his time, lets Blaine inhale him, take in the size of him.

"Fuck, you're so big," he whines, trying to lick along the shaft, but Kurt pulls his hips back teasingly, letting his cock grow to its full size before dragging the underside of it along Blaine's nose and mouth.

"Lick it," he breathes, dragging it along Blaine's face.

Blaine whimpers, eagerly flattening his tongue against Kurt and drawing it up and down. His eyes flutter shut in pleasure as Kurt lets him, and when the head bobs close Blaine lashes his tongue around it, tasting the bitter flavor at the tip and shivering, flushing darker.

Kurt tightens his fingers in Blaine's hair. "So good for me, that's it. Just like that.”

"Sh-should we—um. Condom?"

"Do you want to use a condom?" Kurt exhales, tracing Blaine's lips with the head of his cock. "Because I really want you to feel me when I fuck your throat. And I really want you to swallow my come."

"I'm clean,” Blaine says. “Haven't gone without using one before.”

"Same. Use condoms with your girlfriends and if I fuck anyone else I'll use them, too. With me, you take it bare, and I take you bare. Unless that's an issue?" He pushes the head of his dick between Blaine's lips, challenging him with the motion as well as a glance.

"Fuck," Blaine breathes, mouthing his cock. "No. Not an issue. I wanna taste you.”

"Excellent," Kurt purrs, pushing his cock another inch into Blaine's mouth. "Lips over your teeth. Breathe through your nose and relax your throat."

Shaking, Blaine holds onto Kurt's thighs and whimpers around his cock. "Don't—I just want it. I don't care if it hurts or I choke."

"Yeah," Kurt hisses, holding Blaine's head in place and sliding deeper. "Just breathe and suck and let me in."

Blaine figures it out quickly, starts sucking in shallow huffs of breath through his nostrils as Kurt's dick fills his mouth, then withdraws, then fills it again, each time a fraction deeper, until he's almost to the back with every pass and making Blaine gag like a teenager, not caring and not stopping, even when Blaine's nostrils start to leak clear snot and his eyes begin to water.

He's good. He's relaxed and hungry for it and still enough to not hurt himself but mobile enough to provide the perfect friction when Kurt pulls out and pushes in. He's a fucking _natural_.

"That's it," Kurt pants, going faster as Blaine gets used to it, "that's it, oh, _fuck_ your mouth is so good. Put your hand on me." And that, combined with that sweet swollen wet mouth, is almost too much; Kurt clamps down on the rising orgasm, spreads his thighs and sets his feet and twists his fingers in Blaine's curls and begins fucking his mouth. "Yeah, squeeze it up and down, honey. Just like that. Fuck. Yeah. Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come. Come right down your pretty little throat."

Blaine's moans vibrate along his cock, and it only takes one or two perfect twists of his hand and the clamping suction of his mouth and fluttering throat for Kurt to tumble right over the edge. He comes up on the balls of his feet and pushes into Blaine's throat and comes so hard that his toes curl into the carpet. It's the best orgasm that he can recall having in a long while, and he's had many in the last two and a half years, with boys much more experienced than Blaine.

Shit, he's _good_.

He just kneels there afterward, continuing to suck every last drop out of Kurt until he's shrinking, and even then he just keeps mouthing at him, licking him and groaning for more, and when there's nothing left he ducks low and sucks at Kurt's balls, licking the sweat off of them.

"Baby," Kurt hisses, so sensitive that it's almost too much, but then Blaine sucks his nuts into his mouth, one and then the other, and it feels amazing and looks even better.

Blaine stays there on his knees, his sweaty forehead on Kurt's hip, Kurt's fingers stroking his hair, breathing deep and even and satisfied. "God, that was amazing."

"You did very well," Kurt says, more surprised than he'll even admit.

 

*

 

The week that classes resume Blaine goes back to dating What's Her Face from the wind section, and Kurt starts going out for coffee with a guy that's been after him about a date for a long time. He knows it's unfair and stupid but he does it anyway, just to keep things even between he and Blaine. He doesn't sleep with the guy, but he does encourage Blaine to do whatever it is he would normally do with his girlfriend, and then promptly loses track of the amount of times that Blaine comes home panting and flustered and Kurt lies him down on his bed and climbs on top of him and makes him tell Kurt everything that had happened.

He makes Blaine tell him about how long they'd made out back in the girl's room, what she'd tasted like and the things she'd said. He makes Blaine tell him about how she'd fondled him through his pants and ground down against his cock and put her tongue in his mouth. He makes Blaine tell him about how she'd tried to jerk him off but he could barely stay hard, much less encourage her because he just couldn't think about anything but Kurt.

Kurt praises him for giving up every detail, and then leaves him aching and whimpering in his bed, physically unsatisfied but otherwise quivering with the pleasure of denial.

By the end of the week Kurt has managed to figure out their schedules, and times his coffee date with Ian with one of Blaine's date with Michelle.

The look on Blaine's face when he sees Kurt sitting opposite some beefcake of a guy is priceless. But to be fair, they do tease each other horribly—Kurt fellates his straw and Blaine flirts like hell with his date until he's being borderline inappropriate. Kurt distracts Blaine with high-pitched giggles and flushes and running his fingers all over Ian's biceps.

This goes on for about a week and a half before Kurt cracks. During one of these unknowing double dates he texts Blaine, "Follow me in five" and goes to the men's room.

He leads Blaine into an empty stall, pushes him against the graffiti-covered wall and moves in to kiss him before he even thinks about doing it.

Blaine pulls away. "We—should we do—that?"

Kurt grasps him by the jaw and presses him harder into the stall wall. "Open your mouth, Blaine."

Blaine whimpers, and Kurt fills the space between his lips with tongue, just to punish him, and then goes in a second time sweeter and slower, kissing him until the surprise melts from his tense muscles and he's moaning, twisting his hands in Kurt's hair and pulling them closer together.

Kurt fumbles to open first Blaine's pants and then his own, taking both of their cocks in one hand and tugging. "Mine," he growls, stroking them fully hard together. "She could have your fucking babies and you'd still be mine. Say it."

"I'm yours," Blaine gasps in between rough kisses. "I am so fucking yours.”

Kurt hauls Blaine's left leg around his hip, thrusts forward and jerks them faster, harder. "Gonna send you back to her covered in my come."

"Fuck," Blaine hisses, holding onto his shoulders. "Yes. Yes, god, fuck me up, come on."

Kurt forgets being in control, forgets their little game, and just lets himself bring them both to shuddering, messy orgasms with Blaine's tongue in his mouth.

It's awkward for a day or two, and then Blaine goes back to normal, and they go back to acting like campy best friends—Blaine making the girls laugh with jokes about being Kurt's "better half", and Kurt acting like a lovesick schoolboy who has Blaine wrapped around his little finger.

He has to admit that he enjoys the ruse almost as much as Blaine does, mostly because he owns the fuck out of it, and it feels like a weird catharsis of all the stereotyping that he was so afraid of in high school. Embraced and turned around and play-acted, it loses its grip of fear on him, and he revels in that.

He's lost track of how many times he's strolled through the local mall with his sunglasses on the tip of his nose, hips swinging, sandals clacking, and Blaine's hand stuck down the left back pocket of his shorts, squeezing his ass and gripping his waist while he ducks small and low against Blaine's body and Blaine calls him dumb things like "babe" and "sweetheart" and "honey".

He's not sure why, but it just feels like a giant “fuck you” to the world.

 

*

 

It takes a week or two of this before their friends start to ask questions.

It takes another week or two for Kurt to decide that it's up to Blaine, because they might as well be dating for all the PDA and groping. He's undecided; he loves messing around in this way with Blaine, and he loves Blaine as a friend, but he's not sure how those two things fit together and really, if Blaine wants to continue occupying the closet then Kurt has no interest in outing him.

Except he's kind of outing himself.

"Not terrified anymore?" he asks Blaine one night when they aren't fucking around.

Blaine stares at him, cheek on his notebook, sprawled on his bed, and says, "I don't know. I can't really figure out why I cared so much, now. This dude from brass had a ten minute conversation with me after class the other day and I realized the whole time we were talking that he assumed you were my boyfriend and it like, didn't even matter. No one cares. Even Michelle told me to stop taking her out if I was seeing someone already. She wasn't even mad. She was just—whatever. It's all so fucking whatever. I don't know why I give a shit."

"Do you think you're gay, or bi, or—something else, now?”

Blaine sighs, flipping his notebook shut. "All I know is that I want your dick like every three minutes, Kurt, how in the world could I be that fucking starving for cock and not be something that falls under the 'not straight' category?” He deflates. “I've been faking it with girls for so long I'm not even sure if I'm bi or whatever. I just—didn't want to be any more different than I already was, with the music stuff, you know?” Kurt tilts his head, memories of John Mellencamp and making out with a cheerleader playing through his head. Fuck, he can relate to that, can't he? "I transferred here and met you and I don't even know what I was afraid of. I guess—getting away from my parents has helped. They're not exactly fully engaged with the liberal world, you know? Away from them it's just been easier to do things my way."

"And your way, as it turns out, is possibly the gay way," Kurt says, smiling wickedly but also reassuringly. "Which brings me to question two. If I said I wanted to stop this game we've been playing—would you prefer that?"

Blaine's eyes darken at that. "You don't like it?"

"That's not what I asked."

"If you wanted to stop because you weren't enjoying it, then sure. We're only doing it because we both enjoy it, right?”

"So if I do enjoy it...”

"Then let's keep doing it," Blaine says, smiling. "I fucking love it. I mean—I'm not sure that I'm doing it for the same reasons I had when we first started, but.”

"I kind of love it, too," Kurt admits, biting his lip. He's always liked a good performance.

 

*

 

Kurt isn't surprised when the first real conversation he has about this with someone who is not Blaine happens with Rachel. She corners him not long after the break.

"Okay, tell me everything, and don't leave out all the juicy man-on-man details."

"Is this about Ian?"

"Of course not. You can't fool me, Kurt Hummel. I know you've got the hots for Blaine and by the looks of it you've got his attention, too. I had no idea he was into boys!”

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Rachel. Mind your own business. Or ask Blaine himself.”

Which of course is the exact wrong tactic, because Rachel goes right to Blaine and then Kurt has to explain that he merely deflected because he didn't want to lie outright, or talk about their relationship with Rachel without consulting Blaine first.

"You'd think at some point she'd run out of energy, but she's been like this since birth, from what I hear," Blaine sighs.

"Look, it's up to you. I don't care either way. We have fun together. But if we're gonna mess around in public our friends are going to start asking questions. We've both slept with quite a few of them, as well, so there's no escaping that particular brand of curiosity."

"Let's see how far we can take it, then," Blaine says, with a coy shrug, walking his fingers up Kurt's bare shoulder. Kurt growls and rolls over on top of him and bites at his neck.

"You know just how to drive me nuts," Kurt groans.

 

*

 

They've been cuddly and silly around their friends and on campus for a while now, but things escalate after that conversation.

During a shopping trip with a few of the girls Kurt tries on twenty different pairs of shoes and has a conversation about each pair with the sales person on duty that keeps them in one store for probably three hours. They aren't alone, not by a long shot, but Blaine patiently sits there, handing him shoe after shoe. He hams it up—sighs a lot and says things like "the last five pairs were all the same shoe," and "sweetheart, I'll buy whichever pair you like, just pick one," and Kurt fusses and smiles and kisses Blaine's cheek and says in reply "aw, babe, you are so good to mean" or "what would I do without my sugar daddy, huh?" and Blaine gropes him and murmurs sexual innuendo in his ear that makes him giggle and their friends stare at them like they are crazy people.

At the end of that afternoon he goes into a dressing room with Blaine and eases him through a completely silent blowjob as a reward, sucking him for the first time with their friends milling around three feet away, trying to muffle the wet sloppy noises as Blaine bites down on a roll of socks to muffle the sobs when he comes fucking Kurt's mouth.

Kurt smooths his zip up with a low, gravelly, "That's my boy," and Blaine follows after him like a puppy for the rest of the day, gawking at his body and biting his lip and pinching him constantly, much to the amusement and confusion of their party.

There's another evening when they go out to eat, cramming about eight people into a booth meant to hold maybe six, and Kurt and Blaine spend the entire night squashed together. Kurt has his hand on Blaine's thigh from start to finish, alternately rubbing his leg from knee to groin, and every now and then giving his cock a little squeeze, but the last hour or so is complete torture. He scratches at Blaine's lower back and starts teasing the dip of his spine, whispering all of the things that he wants to do to Blaine when they get home later, and Blaine has to use every bit of restraint that he possesses to not noticeably squirm.

"I've finally figured out why you wear these saggy jeans."

"Really?"

"Well. Aside from the fact that they're really easy to get a hand into."

Blaine smirks. "Okay. You got me. Why do I wear them?"

"Because if you wore jeans that actually fit, people would see this glorious fucking fat ass that you have spilling out everywhere, and you wouldn't be able to walk across campus without getting jumped," Kurt says with a low rasp, breathing hot over Blaine's ear and neck.

Blaine shudders, but pretends as if nothing is happening.

"The first time I saw you in your underwear I popped a boner so fast I thought I was going to pass out from rapid blood relocation," Kurt confesses, dragging the tip of his nose up and down the flushed curve of Blaine's ear. "God, your fucking ass, Blaine." He slides his fingers lower. It's not difficult to tease, since the swell of Blaine's cheeks when he's sitting is almost shelf-like. All Kurt has to do is squeeze. Blaine tenses and begins to tremble. "So sensitive. Want to spread you wide open and press my fingers down your crack and against your hole until you're begging for more. Then get your ass in the air and drag my tongue up and down—"

"Oh my god," Blaine whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

Kurt slides his fingers down the back of Blaine's jeans and presses two fingertips to his dry, clenching hole. "Tight for me, baby? Never been fucked or fingered yourself?"

"N-no," Blaine moans, almost silently. "K-Kurt."

Kurt rubs his fingertips in slow, hard circles, loving the fluttering of Blaine's rim against them. "Mmm, gonna open up for me right here? In front of everyone? I could probably work a finger inside of you right here at the table." He presses his mouth down the back of Blaine's neck, soft, damp kisses that make the hair on Blaine's skin stand up. He's shaking now, clutching Kurt's leg under the table. "Make you sit in my lap and slide my big cock inside of you, have you just sit on it, just squeeze around it tenting your pants, perfectly still."

"Christ," Blaine hisses, writhing deeper into Kurt's side. "Fuck. Fuck, Kurt, I can't—I need—" He squirms, trying to get Kurt's fingers to touch him harder.

"Need what, baby?"

"Please, finger me. Fuck, just—one finger, I—need it, need something inside, please."

"Maybe if you can answer Andrea while I take care of you. It would be really rude to ignore her, don't you think?"

It takes Kurt a full hour to press one single digit inside.

He steals the little oil dish away from the bread basket and dips his finger in, putting his hand slowly back where it was, encouraging Blaine to sit up and then down on his hand. He traces Blaine's rim for what feels like an eternity, teasing the wrinkled flesh as it swells a little with every throbbing outward push of Blaine's anus, until it's winking softly open and Kurt's fingertip keeps catching on the gap.

Blaine is a trembling, sweating mess by the time that Kurt pushes a knuckle in. And then another. And then another. He carries on whole conversations with friends at the table, as does Kurt, while out of sight Kurt twists his middle finger around inside of Blaine's soft, hot, unyielding ass, letting him feel the burn of the whole thick finger with only just enough oil to ease its passage.

Finally, he's all the way in and gently working his finger in and out of Blaine's body. Blaine doesn't seem to be in any discomfort—he's breathing oddly and twitching and shifting around, but it's all eagerness. At one point he falls out of the circle of conversation and slumps back into Kurt's side, hiding his face in Kurt's neck and moaning quietly. They can hardly be heard over the din even if he were to speak at normal volume.

"Feels so good," he whispers.

"You're _shaking_."

"I want more," he says, rocking subtly, fucking himself on Kurt's finger. "Please. Please, just fuck me."

"You'd let me bend you over this table and fuck you in front of everyone, wouldn't you?" Kurt asks, swiveling his wrist and pushing his finger deeper, only to settle back into a rapid fucking rhythm a moment later.

"Please," Blaine gasps, ass spasming hungrily. "Please. Take me home. Take me home and fuck me. Or—the bathroom. Fuck me in the bathroom?"

"What's the rush?" Kurt asks, idly sipping his drink with his free hand. With the other, he's rotating his finger in slow circles against Blaine's insides, letting him feel every turn.

He doesn't fuck Blaine that night, or the next, or the next. He lets the urge burn and twitch and rear its head at incredibly inopportune moments.

 

*

 

And then the tension breaks randomly—they sit in on a guest lecture for extra credit, find two seats near the back where no one else is sitting, and Kurt spends the two hour lecture tracing invisible words into the inseam of Blaine's jeans, until Blaine is so hard that there's a wet spot down the left leg of his pants where he'd wedged his hard-on at the beginning of the lecture. He's almost hyperventilating, and Kurt is literally _vibrating_ with it.

There's no teasing once they leave the lecture hall. Kurt lets Blaine lead him by their laced hands, but the moment that they're alone in their dorm he's shoving Blaine back into the door and jerking his fly open, sinking his hands down the back of Blaine's pants and squeezing his cheeks apart roughly.

"Kurt," Blaine moans, letting his mouth be devoured.

Kurt hauls Blaine's legs up around his waist, kisses him against the door until it's too much to hold him up, then deposits him neatly on the edge of his bed. The bed itself is low enough to the ground that Kurt can kneel and still be between Blaine's legs, and he does, even as he fumbles for the lubricant in Blaine's bedside table drawer. He opens the cap with his teeth when it sticks, panting and tearing Blaine's jeans down around his ankles.

"Going to fuck you," he growls, turning the bottle upside down and lifting Blaine's legs into the air.

"Fuck, please, please," Blaine begs.

But suddenly it's just—not enough. Kurt wants to be closer, have more control. He presses Blaine back onto the bed and crawls onto it after him, kneels between his legs and hovers over him, lifting his pelvis and ass up off of the mattress.

There's lubricant fucking everywhere, but Kurt fumbles for another palmful and gets his fingers between Blaine's cheeks, knowing how crazed he must look. He can feel the urgency hot and rapid beneath his skin, and he's shaking. Blaine is staring up at him with this soft, desperate look, mouth open and eyes so wide and wet that something inside of Kurt's chest cracks and he leans down on his elbows, kisses Blaine hungrily and gasps out, "Put your legs over my shoulders."

They're still kissing when Blaine reaches underneath his own ass to guide Kurt. "Fuck me."

"Do it," Kurt hisses, kissing down his neck and throat. "Put it inside your ass."

Blaine shakes like a leaf through the process, and Kurt has to stop himself from helping multiple times because fuck Blaine is tight, and the angle is bad, and he wants to be in that yesterday, but he lets Blaine do it, he lets Blaine find his own pace, lets Blaine own the experience, and isn't quite sure why he feels so strongly about that but is equally sure that the concern will disappear as soon as he's got that gorgeous ass swallowing him.

The scary thing is—it sort of doesn't.

Blaine kisses him, wet and fast and breathless, all through the act—they fuck fast and hard, Blaine bent in half beneath Kurt, but they kiss more than they don't, and Kurt can't stop sinking his fingers into Blaine's curls and gripping his flexing arms and at one point holding his cheeks apart to fuck him slower, deeper, trying to get the angle better so that he enjoys it as much as Kurt is.

He isn't prepared for coming inside of Blaine with their eyes locked together. He isn't prepared for the emotion he sees there. He isn't prepared for the desire to clutch those sweaty, still-clothed shoulders under his fingers, or press his face into Blaine's heaving throat and just _revel_ when Blaine comes shuddering between their bellies, his ass pulsing around Kurt's flagging erection with a soft surprised noise that seems so delicate compared to the rest of him that it makes Kurt's pulse skip a beat. He isn't prepared for the desire to nudge his fingers back up inside of Blaine, just to feel the warm slickness of his own come, to confirm the depth of his marking, his claiming of this man.

Blaine whimpers and twists his face to the side.

"Sensitive?" Kurt asks, raspy and panting. He wants to ask, are you okay, but it feels weird to do so.

"Y-yeah," Blaine answers, but his thighs are relaxed and his cheeks like silk. "God, that feels—so good, your fingers rubbing like that, and—I'm so fucking _wet_ from you—Jesus."

Kurt flushes. His chest twinges for a brief, alarming moment, and he gently takes his hand back. It only really hits him then that this was Blaine's first time having anal sex—that he could have possibly gone slower, been kinder. He's never actually fucked a virgin before. He wonders why he's experiencing this shit in reverse, why he feels so fucking bad about it now, when Blaine looks very pleased beneath him.

It becomes awkward the moment that they realize they're staring at each other with smiles on their faces, saying nothing, doing nothing to separate.

"I'll uh, get a rag," Kurt says, finally.

They don't speak for the rest of that night aside from grunts and thanks and good nights.

 

*

 

"I am so fucked," Kurt says to Rachel later that weekend, tugging a hat down low over his sunglasses and slumping into her side.

She's toying with a calculator and a notebook. "Hm?"

For just one moment he thinks that he could spill every detail and feel momentarily better—but he knows that she'd rake him over the coals, and she's hardly paying attention, anyway, so he makes something up instead and she doesn't catch him mid-confession with her usual flare for figuring out exactly when her prodding isn't wanted.

Three days later he wakes up to Blaine sliding into bed behind him, stroking a hand down his stomach and over the front of his pajama pants to cup him.

"Did I do something?" he asks, sleep-rough and horny as he strokes Kurt's morning wood to full attention. "We haven't been..."

"Jesus," Kurt hisses, unprepared for the familiarity but so pleased that all he can do is squirm. "God, no, I—"

_I'm awful at this, and I miss you, fuck fuck fuck._

Blaine licks a stripe up the side of his neck, kisses just behind his ear and slides his hand down the front of Kurt's pants. "Mmm, let me take care of this, then."

Kurt lets him, wondering how the fuck he manages to relocate Kurt's brain with just a handjob, Jesus Christ it's just a _handjob_ , and Kurt then proceeds to freak out in the bathroom after, brushing his teeth so hard that his gums bleed, and he stands there tasting mint and blood, shaking and half-hard again because he can't stop thinking about it.

 

*

 

As the weather warms up, the frequency of their beach trips increases, which certainly doesn't help. Sitting under an umbrella covered in sunscreen and watching Blaine romp bronzed and wet and sandy with his friends, throwing Frisbees and footballs and sometimes wrestling with other boys is like torture. Kurt wants to touch him and kiss him and bite him and tackle him onto a towel and straddle his gorgeous body and—

Shit, fuck, shit, he's getting attached.

He has been. It's not really a shock. It's just terribly unplanned and inconvenient.

And then Blaine runs over to him, shakes like a dog, makes him shriek, and falls on top of him, making monster noises.

Kurt glares. Blaine grins. Kurt feels his heart do a cartwheel in his chest.

"You never swim with me," Blaine complains.

"There are things," Kurt says.

"Things."

"Seaweed. Fish poop. Pirates. The Kraken."

"I'll protect you," Blaine says, leaning in and kissing the tip of his nose.

Literally everyone is staring at them. Kurt's face goes violently red. He sort of can't breathe. He wonders if Blaine is just playing as usual, but then he pulls back and sees the challenge in those hazel eyes.

Blaine whispers, "I want to kiss you."

Kurt stiffens. "Blaine."

"I'm going to kiss you."

" _Blaine_."

It's like dipping half of a foot into a warm bath. It feels good, it makes him want _more_ , and he forgets everything else under the weight of the sensation. Blaine's mouth is soft and sweet against his and next to them Kurt can feel his girlfriends laughing and squealing and kicky-feeting against their towels. From across the sand, Blaine's buddies whoop and catcall.

Blaine's tongue brushes the seam of Kurt's lips as they retreat, and Kurt is left dazed and panting, his sunglasses crooked and Blaine's nose and cheeks smeared with the sunscreen that had been on his face.

Kurt bites his lip, literally and figuratively. They can discuss this later. It's not as if they haven't kissed each other in various places other than on the lips in full view of their friends before.

Of course, later is being one stall over in the dorm showers, rinsing sand out of places that sand shouldn't ever be while Kurt's heart makes a bid for freedom through his chest wall. It's Kurt's thoughts scattered and deflated the moment that they're alone, because Blaine crawls onto his bed after him and starts kissing his neck and asks, "Can we—can we do it again?"

And Kurt, who had intended to ask Blaine just what the hell he's about with this kissing in front of their friends insanity, makes a noise sort of like a fish being stepped on and asks, "W-what?"

Blaine is flushed and shower-fresh and there's a towel around his hips that's inching lower over his ass with every shift forward and Kurt stares, mouth filling with saliva at the sight of those high, round ass cheeks peaking out from underneath the cotton.

"I can't stop thinking about it," Blaine breathes, climbing into his lap and sucking open-mouthed kisses down his throat. "God, it's all I've been fucking thinking about. Please, can we—" His ass squirms on Kurt's thighs, and Kurt puts his hands on it before he can even think about whether this is a good idea or not. He squeezes, feels the firm flesh rise to fill his palms, feels the twist of a noise in Blaine's throat. "I want you so bad. Want you inside of me so bad."

Breath, and the uneven rise of his chest, and Kurt's fingers just sort of—slip, find Blaine's crack and his hole, clenching and somehow already soft and yielding. His body is begging for it; hell, _he_ is begging for it.

"How do you want...?" The towel around Kurt's waist falls open over his erection and thighs.

"Can I just, like this? Ride your lap?" Blaine asks, letting his towel slide down around their legs. Kurt is already reaching for the lubricant under his bed, hands shaking. Blaine takes it from him, does the work of applying it with hurried, choppy movements. Kurt worries that it's not enough, that he should—finger, or—but Blaine is already guiding him. "I fingered myself in the shower."

Jesus. Jesus _Christ_. That's probably the first time that he's done that to himself, Jesus Christ.

Kurt buries his face in Blaine's shoulder, gasping out pleasure and shock as Blaine's rim gives, as that first ring lets him in, as he just sinks inside like a hot knife through butter. Blaine whines and straddles his lap higher, wrapping his forearms around Kurt's neck and tossing his head back.

"Fuck, yes, god," Blaine babbles, clenching clenching clenching. "So fucking good, your cock feels so _good_."

"Blaine," Kurt moans, because he needs to _relax_ , he's so—

He bottoms out and his ass stops fluttering quite so intensely, and he grabs the low-hanging shelf on the wall behind Kurt's head and uses the leverage to begin fucking himself on Kurt's cock, a slow front to back grind that eases Kurt deeper, and deeper, and deeper still, until it's just pressure and the sweet fist of Blaine's ass around him, and Blaine's mouth begging for kisses at the corner of his.

It's only when his thrusts begin to shake the bed that Kurt presses his hands to Blaine's hot back, digs his fingernails into the slightly fatty deposits just above the swell of his ass and holds on. Blaine is possessed—eyelids fluttering, mouth parted, cock bouncing against his belly, lost in his own world as his body takes Kurt over and over and over again.

"B-Blaine," Kurt says, and this time it's a call, and Blaine's eyes open hazily.

"I'm going to come," Blaine mutters, and Kurt—isn't even touching him, fuck. "P-please just keep f-fucking me—" He hardly has the sense to point out that Blaine is doing most of the work, when Blaine grabs his shoulders, dragging red tracks down Kurt's biceps as he fucks down low, rocking down down fast fast fast, working Kurt's cock just where he needs it, and then coming with a sob, dick throbbing and gushing all over their bellies and thighs. "Oh, god, _Kurt_ , baby—fuck, fuck, yes, don't stop—" He just sort of keeps coming, weaker and weaker until he's dissolved in Kurt's lap, collapsed against his chest and panting. "Oh my god."

"Get on your hands and knees for me?" Kurt asks breathlessly.

Blaine would do anything in that moment and this is hardly an issue. He clambers weakly onto his hands and knees, cock soft and swollen and wet at the tip between his thighs as Kurt kneels up behind him and pushes back inside of him with a grunt. He knows just how good this position can feel, and Blaine's prostate seems so sensitive—

He wraps his hands around Blaine's hips and drags his ass back. "Gonna make you come again," he promises, angling himself down and fucking into Blaine, slow and deep. "Touch yourself"

"I—I'm not—"

"Touch yourself," he repeats, over the noise of their hips colliding.

And Blaine does as he's told, pulling at his soft, over-sensitive cock until he starts whimpering, rocking on his knees as Kurt fucks him. The angle is off so Kurt lifts him by his tiny waist a little higher, and then he's off again, balls slapping against Blaine's skin.

"Grind," he says, so close that holding off is becoming an issue. "Grind up and down, just—like that, god, fuck, yes, right there, feel that?"

"Oh my god," Blaine sobs, ass jiggling wildly as he catches on. "Oh my god _fuck me_."

"That's it. That's it, get that spot against my cock. Make yourself come, sweetheart."

"Kurt," Blaine moans, pulling at himself frantically. " _Kurt_."

He collapses when it happens that second time, clear fluid and he's barely hard but he's coming, and Kurt gets a brief glimpse of the weak spurts all over his fingers before he goes down completely, taking Kurt with him.

Kurt kneels just barely off the mattress, rutting deep inside of that perfect ass and burying his face, his chest, his belly, against Blaine's flattened body on the bed.

"Stay," Blaine hisses, clutching his ass from beneath him. "Stay on top of me just like that and—fuck, come in me. Come in my ass."

The pressure is overwhelming, and Blaine flattened under him sends something primal through Kurt's brain—he bites down on the back of Blaine's neck and fucks him wildly into the bed, the squeaking so loud that there's no doubt a person one room over or in the hall would be able to hear it. His ass is just—open, and snug, and perfect, Kurt doesn't think he's ever been with a guy so desperate to be fucked, a guy whose body had wanted it this badly. He laces their fingers and lines their arms up and presses every inch of their bodies together and slams, slams, slams down, taking Blaine, taking everything that Blaine has to offer him, blind and driven and greedy.

He buries his face against Blaine's cheek and feels Blaine turn his head to kiss him, and something about that kiss at that moment just—wrecks him. He presses his tongue between Blaine's lips, feels the sob at the back of Blaine's throat and comes so hard that it hurts, so hard that he can feel his cock pulse, feel his balls draw up tight against his body as he spurts inside of Blaine's body, over and over again, flooding him with it.

He wonders in that sticky, dizzy, overheated moment after, when the orgasm begins to let go of him, when this had gone so spectacularly off of the rails.

He wonders when this became—this intense, overwhelming, needy thing. He wonders when Blaine had became something more than just a bit of fun. Because there is nothing playful or casual about this. He feels as if he's been turned inside out, as if his organs are dangling by threads, as if his brain patterns have been manually reset. Nothing makes sense. He can't trust his instincts because his instincts are screaming at him to abort mission before—before—

Before it's no longer an option.

He wonders if it's already too late.

He lies there, in need of a second shower, his dick throbbing sweetly and softly in Blaine's body, and he can feel the wet around it, and he can feel Blaine's pulse hammering, and Blaine's lips on his, so soft, when have a man's lips ever been that _soft_ , breath and slide and moisture, and Kurt's kissing him and rubbing down into him, and when did their fingers get tangled like that, when did Kurt's mouth find the hinge of Blaine's jaw and neck, when did Blaine start making those little broken whimpers?

Blaine gently disengages from him, but rolls over beneath him, not away from him, winds his fingers through Kurt's hair and tugs him down into a kiss. Kurt falls, gravity and sense forgotten, right into the kiss, lets it take him for a ride or two before he has to breathe.

And Blaine is under him, slitted eyes and swollen red mouth and eyelashes that can't be natural and that little turn to his lips that screams _content_.

And it's no longer an option.

He wonders when that happened, and how the fuck it got past him.

Blaine's thumbs trace the shape of his mouth.

Shit, shit, shit.

He is so stupid. Games with "straight" boys were never like this—games with boys in general were never like this. Nothing has ever been quite like this. It's never been this easy, this intense, this—personal, before. Kurt had begun to convince himself that romance of the kind that he'd fantasized about growing up had simply been that—a childhood fantasy, put to rest his first year of college when he learned about the sort of thing he could expect to find with men his own age. Largely, he's enjoyed himself—but romance? Heart-stopping what are you even where is my heart because I think you made me drop it somewhere and I hardly noticed sort of romance? Hasn't really come for him. He hasn't really put in the effort to go looking for it, either. Sex has been—in combination with companionship—rather a lot and often enough, all on its own.

But this—

This has just sort of happened.

And the two-dimensional but sweet band kid with the curls and the ass that won't quit is wrapped around him, mouthing at his Adam's apple and breathing out contentment in slow measure, turning his shock to curiosity.

"Do you have, like, plans for today?" Blaine asks.

Shaking, Kurt answers, "Not really."

They fuck the entire day away. They fuck on every surface, until the room stinks and Kurt quite literally cannot stand himself and makes Blaine swap out the sheets while he showers, and then while Blaine showers he opens the windows and airs out the room and drinks a beer and sits naked on the edge of his bed, feet tucked over the cheap metal frame.

He tries to make sense of things, but every muscle in his body is burning from exertion, his dick actually aches, and even though they've cleaned up he can smell Blaine on him, still.

And all he can see in his mind's eye is Blaine around him, under him, straddled over him, grasping his body and letting him inside of his and the noises he'd made and the way his torso had swiveled and the thing he'd done with his hips that last time over the back of the desk that had made Kurt's balls contract without warning—

Shivering, Kurt steps into a pair of briefs and tosses his empty bottle in the recycling bin in the corner of the room.

Blaine slides into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, curls wet around his face. It's dark out now, so he turns on the desk lamps and then flops back onto his bed, smiling at Kurt.

Kurt can't help but smile back, despite the uneasiness in him.

"This is—weird, isn't it?" Blaine asks, when the silence begins to stifle them both.

Kurt scratches a hand through the hair at the back of his head, exhaling audibly. "Kinda lost our grip on it, I guess."

"When we fucked that first time—"

The observation is so keen that it feels like a knife sliding in between Kurt's ribs. "I—"

"I've never fucking felt like that before, having sex," Blaine admits, sounding embarrassed. "I—fuck. Shit. Sorry, this is way heavier than anything you're looking for, I get that, you don't even need to say it."

Blaine isn't wrong. But Kurt isn't a coward, and he isn't about to shy away from the fact that he's been power playing with his roommate for months, and that he's been given one of Blaine's firsts, and that that means something, even if they had both been caught up in the details at the time.

So he says, gently, carefully, "I—I really like playing with you. I mean—like, mutually. I like—I feel comfortable with you, and I'm attracted to you. I like you, a lot. And I'm really flattered that you trusted me to—to introduce you to all that."

"Is there like, some secret kinky vibe that I give off, because I had no fucking clue before you that I—um."

Kurt laughs, shaking his head. "I think we just kind of—clicked. Don't you?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, smiling. "I guess we did."

 

*

 

Which doesn't remove all of the problematic elements.

It's too intense to be just sex, and it's too often to be easily compartmentalized as something else. But it's not dating. They aren't exclusive, though neither of them has any interest in seeing other people. They don't change their behavior in front of their friends, but they don't label that behavior in any way that makes it "normal", either.

All Kurt knows is that having Blaine that way has created an indescribable hunger in him that he has never felt before, an urge that contorts his fingers and flushes his cheeks and makes him feel powerful, sexual, and just as lost as in charge, all of the fucking time.

He thinks that he has a handle on it, has his hands on Blaine out of sight, has Blaine hard to the point of painful discomfort under a table or a blanket during movie night or in the backseat of a crowded car, but then Blaine will whisper his lips past Kurt's earlobe and say something like, "Want you, Kurt," or "please, baby," or will lace their hands out of view, or shift under Kurt's hold so sweetly, so willingly, and Kurt's mind scatters and his dick throbs and his chest hurts because Blaine is _doing_ something to him, Blaine is _ruining_ him, and how did he ever think that he had any idea of what this means?

 

*

 

Blaine has an off-campus performance that most of the music program, regardless of major, attends, all of them split up over three houses that are situated closer to the venue.

He's originally set to room with Rachel but Rachel is dating someone now and asks them to switch things up so she can snag some privacy with her boyfriend, and so, of course, Blaine and Kurt end up together at the end of the roommate shuffle. Mostly because Rachel is a meddling little wench; Kurt knows that she had something to do with it.

Kurt isn't sure what's so different—the room is twice the size of their dorm and so is the bed, and it has an en suite bathroom, yes, but—he feels sort of itchy. It's fucking _cozy_.

"Oh, that's nice," Blaine says, kicking off his sneakers and flopping diagonally across the bed.

"What?"

"Private bathroom. Sometimes I swear I'm catching shit in those communal showers, you know?”

"Oh, yeah. Of course, who knows how much cleaner this place is, anyway?"

Blaine smiles, laces his hands over his chest and asks, "Come here?"

Kurt kneels on the bed. "You were really good tonight."

"Thank you. You were a very good audience."

"The arrangement was a little—"

"Yeah," Blaine says, sighing. "I made some notes. We'll see if they listen."

"They should," Kurt says, playing with the frayed hem of Blaine's t-shirt. "I'm going to change." It should be weird, this level of domesticity outside of the dorms, but it's not. He just turns and changes, heedless of the lack of privacy, but he does go still when Blaine inhales sharply.

"D-did you—"

He flushes, glancing over his shoulder.

"Did you—shave?"

He gives a coy smile, shrugs the opposite way, bottom lip between his teeth. Blaine is staring at him as if he isn't made of normal human stuff. "I got a wax. Sometimes it's—nice. Usually when I know I'll be away from home." He gives the underwear at his leg a snap and shifts his ass back and forth. "Is that weird?"

Blaine's mouth is hanging open. He coughs to clear his throat. "Uh. N-no? I don't know." He holds his breath for a moment, then blurts, "Can I see?" and then rushes to add, "I—you didn't do that for me, did you? I don't—I know you're my first guy, uh, partner, but I don't need you to be—like—smooth, I like—I like that you're hairy down—there, um."

Kurt laughs, sliding across the bedspread to straddle Blaine's body. "It's just a novelty. I don't do it all the time. And no. I did it for myself, sweetheart." He leans down and kisses Blaine's jaw. "Which does not mean that I don't want you to touch me right now."

They've been sort of hands-off all day, what with the performance, and it feels like all of the pent up—whatever it is—between them bursts at that. Blaine groans and kisses Kurt's shoulder as he grasps his hips, feels down from there with slow, strong squeezes of his hands, feels the wax-smooth slope of his thigh and then reaches up the leg holes of his boxer briefs, moaning when Kurt's hairless ass fills his palms.

"Oh my god, you're so _soft_. I mean, you always are, but without the hair it's like, right there.”

"You like that?" he breathes over Blaine's collarbone, shifting his ass higher.

"I—I've wanted to—god, I've wanted to taste you, I just haven't been able to work up a segue that wasn't embarrassing as fuck," Blaine pants, squeezing Kurt's ass. “This is sort of perfect.”

Kurt groans. "Seriously?"

"How could—of course, Jesus, have you seen your ass?"

It's not that he doesn't want to. In fact, it had been part of the reason that he'd gotten the wax to begin with—he'd wanted to feel completely groomed, and completely comfortable, in case—well. In case Blaine had wanted to do something new, he guesses. He's not sure how fond he is of the idea of switching. He's fairly exclusively a top; the few times he'd bottomed he hadn't cared for it.

But nothing with Blaine has followed any previous pattern. Why should this?

"How—how do you usually—"

"Let guys eat out my ass?" Kurt finishes, feeling naughty as he grinds his hips down against Blaine's.

"Fuck," Blaine hisses. "Yeah."

"I like to be on my stomach," he says, telling the truth. He's never been able to relax with a guy staring up at him from between his ass cheeks with his legs typically in the air.

Blaine's hands slide past the waistband of his underwear, pushing it down. "God, I just want to—I want everything, just let me play? Tell me if I do something completely off-course?"

Kurt doesn't know what to expect, but he isn't prepared for the first touch of their bodies after shucking their underwear to be the press of Blaine's lips at the nape of his neck. He shivers, almost says something, makes a joke about overachieving, but Blaine—Blaine is breathing warm and heavy along his skin and it feels good, the kisses that start right there and spread outward, over his shoulders and down his spine, wet and open over his lower back and sacrum.

When Blaine reaches the split of his ass he can feel him shudder and pant out a breath, rub his cheeks and mouth back and forth over the soft, sensitive skin there. His fingers come up, cup Kurt's cheek, press them in and together and then spread them. He exhales against Kurt's hole, hands shaking.

"Fuck. You're all—smooth and pale and pink, Jesus, Kurt, I—" He nuzzles in between, drags the tip of his tongue down Kurt's crack and then kisses his pucker softly.

Kurt inhales sharply and exhales slowly, gripping the pillow beneath his cheek. His knees go wide on the mattress. He doesn't usually—let go, this easily, but god, it feels good, and Blaine's not just diving in, he's—kissing, and kitten-licking, as if he doesn't want to rush, as if he wants to catalog every bit of the experience, as if he's _hungry_ for it.

"You're shaking," he groans, suckling soft little kisses all around Kurt's rim. "God, do you—does that feel good, baby?"

"Yeah," Kurt breathes out shakily, trying to control himself. "You can—do more, go harder, I don't—I won't break."

"We have all night," Blaine says, and lowers his mouth.

Kurt supposes he shouldn't be surprised that a man used to taking his time with pussy is just as willing to take his time with his ass—but he's never had it like this before. Blaine soaks him, kisses and licks and strokes with his strong thumbs until Kurt is literally unable to stop his hole from gaping open wantonly. When that starts, that marvelous little wink, Blaine begins to huff and shift around, begins sealing his mouth over Kurt's hole and sucking, and Kurt is a mess, twisting his pillow in half and almost suffocating around the noises that he's making.

"P-put—put your tongue—in—if you—want," he huffs, hips writhing into the mattress. He hadn't intended to cross the penetration line but he's _aching_ , and Blaine is right there.

"Oh god yes," Blaine exhales, and—sinks his tongue in with everything that his jaw has to offer, and starts licking like a crazy person, and Kurt cries out and comes up on his knees and thrusts back, he can't help it, he needs more of that, and if he keeps rubbing against the bed he's going to fucking come.

"Oh my god, oh my _god_ ," he chants, back bending, ass in the air. "Oh my god fuck me with your tongue, do it, do it."

He can't believe that Blaine hasn't done this before. He seems to just—get in, locks his hands around Kurt's thighs and holds him in place, sets his chin and jaw, points his tongue and goes for it, no hesitation, chin-deep with his tongue buried inside of Kurt, licking at him, filling him.

"Jesus," Kurt pants, head going back, "Jesus Christ." His cock is tapping his belly; he's so _hard_. But it's not enough. He's only ever received blowjobs after being eaten out, but—fuck, that's not what he wants now.

It goes on until he literally can't stand it, and Blaine's spit is dripping down his smooth ball sac, and he can feel Blaine stroking his own cock behind him, so turned on by his mouth on Kurt that he can't not. That does something to Kurt—he's feverish and splayed out, and feels like he could do anything with Blaine right now, as if limits just don't exist for them anymore, if they ever had in the first place. But that little voice of doubt in the back of his mind screams, _you never liked it before_.

He isn't surprised when Blaine comes up for air, thumb on his perineum, and groans out a soft, begging, "Can I—can I fuck you? You're so fucking _open_ , I just—is that—"

Kurt freezes, torn between past experience and _Blaine_. "I'm pretty much just a top," he says, watching Blaine on his knees behind him, cock red and swollen and standing, face soaked with spit from going down on him.

"O-okay," Blaine says, as his cock visibly pulses.

Jesus fuck, who is Kurt kidding? He wants that dick in him.

"I—is that a hard and fast rule, or have you just slept with douchebags who sucked at it?" Blaine asks, breathing heavily.

"Um. I'm not sure?"

"I could—try. Let me try? I'll stop if you want me to, I just—I really, really want to make you feel—the way you make me feel, when we do it."

Heat pulses down Kurt's body in waves. Jesus. What is this guy _made of_?

And then he feels the tentative trace of Blaine's thumb around his hole, teasing his hips up, and he can't breathe around the want coursing through him.

He fumbles for the lubricant tube, passes it back with trembling fingers. "Go slow."

"Glacial, I promise," Blaine whispers, kissing his knuckles as he accepts the tube. He warms the lubricant between his fingers before slicking Kurt's hole, and Kurt shivers at that gesture—so thoughtful for a college boy.

"Spoon up behind me? Need to change positions, I'm all cramped up." The truth is, he's not ready to do this face to face, but he doesn't want to be on his hands and knees, either. He—wants to be closer, without Blaine getting to stare at his face, just yet.

Blaine smiles. "That's—yeah, that's great."

Of course, he doesn't really account for the intimacy of being held, from head to toe, as Blaine nudges up between his cheeks and kisses behind his ear with a soft sigh.

Fuck. _Fuck_ , this isn't a good idea, either.

But Blaine's there, Blaine's hard and surging and warm, rubbing between his cheeks, slow and careful, a loop so repetitive that Kurt thinks they might just start a fire with the friction, it goes on for that long, until his ass is throbbing and his hole clenching greedily, trying to catch the head of Blaine's dick every time that it passes. It goes on until he's desperate again, barely breathing right, clutching the forearm that Blaine has wrapped around his waist. He loses track of time, of his own limits, of all of the reasons why they shouldn't be this close and he just—falls apart.

"Blaine," he breathes, and Blaine's mouth is right there, pecking the smooth curve of his jaw. There's no hair currently down there, no friction, no catch, just milk-pale flesh and Blaine's hard, thick cock, and it feels like there's nothing between them, not even the boundaries of their own flesh, just sex organs and want and feelings that Kurt can't fully define. "Blaine, I—"

"Yeah?" Blaine asks, all breath, as his hips move. "Want me? Want me inside?"

It's something that Kurt would usually say. But it's—the tone of Blaine's voice strikes a perfect resonance inside of Kurt; his resistance shatters, and his pelvis is searching in opposite rhythm to Blaine's, and god, yes, yes, fuck, yes, he wants it, he wants Blaine, he needs Blaine, and he doesn't care what that means anymore if it means he gets _this_.

"Please," he says on a shiver, as he feels Blaine steady his cock by the base, feels Blaine press the flared width of the head of it against Kurt's twitching rim. "Fuck— _oh_ —god."

"Oh my god you're so fucking tight," Blaine gasps, and shakes through the longest, most careful insertion that Kurt has ever experienced. His patience is forced but determined, and he sinks inside so slowly and with so much lubricant that Kurt is sure that he maybe has been doing it wrong all of this time, or has indeed slept with douchebags who sucked at it, because—

It doesn't hurt. It isn't awkward. It's just burn and pressure and fullness and wet and Blaine breathing into his hair, stroking his belly as it heaves.

And then he pulls out as carefully as he'd pushed in, applies more lubricant, and sinks in with much less resistance, and then again, and again, no thrusting, just individual pushes, until Kurt is sobbing at the restraint and shaking so hard that he can't stay still.

"I'm—oh, god, Blaine. It's—good, it's—just—please, I need you to move."

Blaine kisses his neck, his shoulder, his bicep. "Feel so fucking good around me. Just let me—calm down, so I don't—come in three seconds, Jesus, you're—perfect."

So they lie there. They breathe, and Kurt's ass throbs, and Blaine's dick stretches him, and they keep breathing until Blaine eases his pelvis back and Kurt inhales sharply and Blaine reaches around and takes Kurt's wilting erection in his hand and pulls at it.

"I want to make you come, but—I don't want to rush it," he says against Kurt's ear. "Is that okay?"

Fuck. _Fuck_.

"Yes," Kurt groans, writhing. "Fuck me. I need to feel it. Fuck me."

It's—nothing like Kurt has ever experienced before. He waits for it to feel rough or odd, waits for his bowels to feel strange, waits for any and all of the weird, slightly off-putting sensations that have accompanied the act before, and—none of that happens. It feels perfect, like the stretch in his ass is the stretch of every muscle in his body but done in the gentlest, warmest way possible. It feels like union instead of penetration. It feels like his ass hadn't realized how much it needed to be full until tonight, with Blaine's thick cock entering it at a steady, rapid clip, and then—

He lifts his leg a little and Blaine surges closer and hits his prostate accidentally.

"Oh my god," Kurt moans.

Blaine goes still. "There?"

"Oh my _god_."

"Forget my—" He swats Blaine's hand off of his cock and lifts his thigh instead. "Just fuck my ass."

He can jerk himself off if he wants to, but right now he wants to feel the full extent of the enjoyment that he can get out of being fucked, which he apparently has never even approached before. He's never felt a man's dick against his prostate, ever. He'd thought there was just something wrong with him, or that the sex guides were bullshit.

Success makes Blaine confident, apparently, as that's all he needs and he's off, fucking Kurt smooth and fast and for as long as Kurt wants him to, until it starts to twinge and Kurt realizes that he does indeed have a limit. The ache is just this side of good hurt, and before he can creep too closely to that edge he takes himself in hand and begins pumping in time with Blaine's thrusts.

"I can do that if you—"

"Fuck me through it," Kurt says, eyes closed, body soaked with sweat, thighs wobbling as Blaine fucks him. "I want to come around you, just—keep doing that, I'm close."

Blaine holds him by the sweaty spot where his hip and pelvis meet and keeps fucking him, a little harder, a little faster. They're both sort of simultaneously hyperventilating and holding their breaths, and Kurt gets distracted by that so he closes his eyes and feels Blaine warm and strong along his back and legs and lets the sensation of being supported, taken care of, flood his veins, until there's nothing but pressure, and it's just a matter of squeezing the head of his cock and fucking through his own fist and letting himself feel Blaine's cock inside of him and—

He comes, crying out, arching, twisting, and Blaine has to hold him to keep it together and he does, and Kurt just keeps going wild, like a wire slashed in two and sparking, letting himself moan, letting his body move, letting it happen.

When it's over he just lies there, eyes shut and chest heaving, and there's wet—everywhere. Sweat, come, lubricant, he has no idea what is what, just knows that they're both a sodden mess and his cock is twitching and welling white at the slit and Blaine is still fucking him.

He can't _think_ , he's so done.

"It's—okay, you can—" He gasps when Blaine rolls him half onto his stomach and sinks all the way back inside, with the addition of his body weight behind the thrust.

"Let me," he gasps, pressing deep.

"Yes, you can, you can, you c—an, oh, my god, Blaine, your _cock_ , feels so," he groans, burying his sweaty face and hair into the pillow and just taking it.

Blaine comes on the sixth or seventh stroke after that, arms around Kurt's shoulders, gasping into the back of his neck and trembling like a leaf. He shifts off to the side to let their bodies detach and Kurt—Kurt lies there, ass spread wide, leaking Blaine's come, and feels—amazing. Beyond amazing. Giddy and transported and one hundred percent out of his league because—

Blaine. Blaine just gave him something that no other guy ever has and he sort of can't _breathe_.

He buries his face in the pillow beneath it and just shakes.

And then Blaine kisses his back. His arm. His hip. His hair. His neck.

He _shakes_.

"Kurt?"

He makes a noise that roughly translates to _gnnaggh_.

Blaine laughs. "Um. I'm going to assume that's a good thing, but I really would like confirmation?"

He shifts arms, turning his cheek so that he's look at Blaine instead of away from him. He knows how debauched, how wrecked he must look—and Blaine's expression confirms that, but in the sweetest way possible.

He smiles, reaches out and touches Blaine's jaw. "That's a good thing."

"I just—didn't want to be that douchebag."

Kurt laughs. He turns his face back into the crook of his elbow and breathes out. "That was amazing," he mumbles.

"What?"

"That was amazing," he repeats, lifting his head and feeling embarrassed and silly about it, because Blaine has _never_ —and he—

"Are you fucking with me?"

He giggles, shoving Blaine's bare, sweaty shoulder. "Come on. I'm already inflating your ego far too much as it is."

Blaine tackles him onto his back and kisses him. "Are you serious? I was good? That was _good_?"

"Blaine Anderson, you are going to be insufferable—"

"I rocked your world," he breathes, giggling even as he kisses Kurt everywhere that he can reach. "Oh my god I made the Earth fucking move for you, this is the first time you _enjoyed_ that, I am _amazing_ —"

Kurt laughs, rolling his eyes shut. "Oh my god, we're never having sex again."

"Of course we are. Clearly I was _born_ for this."

The humor tilts, just a little, to this side of serious, and Kurt is grinning but quiet, staring up at Blaine perched over him. He can still feel Blaine inside of him, and something about that and the pleasure that has bled through his entire body just makes him—want to do something reckless.

Kurt Hummel has an impeccable sense of timing as well as a flare for the dramatic; of course he's going to do something right now. It's practically his _job_ to do something right the hell now.

He reaches up and pushes a curl behind Blaine's ear, and those hazel eyes are intent on his face, and he says, "Go out with me."

Blaine holds his breath. Then exhales, "Yeah?"

"No. Screw that.”

Blaine raises his eyebrows.

“Be my boyfriend. Be mine, Blaine."

"I don't want—I don't want to keep up these roles, not to the extreme we've been, if we're going to, to _date_ —I just want to be us, out there, and in here, too."

"We can do that," Kurt says, shaking with the possibilities suddenly there between them. "We can be whatever we want, you know that, right?"

"Okay," Blaine says, smiling, and then a little louder, with a laugh behind it, "okay. Okay."


End file.
